


I Would Do Anything For Love

by annabeth



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Barebacking, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Incest Kink, Loss of Virginity, Sibling Incest, Smut, Twincest, the slightest smidge of pregnancy kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 14:04:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12082557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/pseuds/annabeth
Summary: One the eve of Mickey and Sara's birthday, his sister gives him the only present he would ever desire.





	I Would Do Anything For Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadesofhades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofhades/gifts), [BoxWineConfessions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxWineConfessions/gifts).



> This is my first real attempt at writing twincest with these two, so I hope it isn't awful.
> 
> [Boxwineconfessions](http://archiveofourown.org/users/boxwineconfessions) posted on tumblr that it was almost the Crispino's birthdays, and between her and [ShadesofHades](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofhades) I was bunnied into writing this.
> 
> Title from Meat Loaf.

It beats in his blood, like it's part of the way his heart works, this need for Sara. Of course he knows he's crazy—crazy in love. Every breath he takes feels like an extension of her lungs. They're twins, so he feels everything she feels. It's a cliche, but when she falls on the ice, his hips and back will twinge.

Sometimes Mickey wonders if she can feel him. Not the physical, but the _other_.

When Mickey skates, he knows that Sara's heart is beating in time with his own. He's protected her his whole life—it's only a matter of time before she realizes, right?

Realizes that the syrupy feel to his blood, or the sharp ache when his heart pounds when she's near, is all part of a love he can't describe, can't question, can't defend. Mickey knows—on the eve of his twenty-third birthday—what it means, now. He's put a strange smiley face on his feelings to keep from feeling the sting of unrequited love.

"Mickey?" Sara enters his room, his own room now, and Mickey misses when they used to share, when he could climb into her bed for cuddles even though she was technically the younger of the two of them. "Are you excited?"

"For what?" All Mickey can see is _her_. He breathes and it's her, every breath, every single tingle in his body, every itch—everything is _her_.

"The Grand Prix!" Sara joins him on the bed, leaning her head against his shoulder, and Mickey breathes her in. It was so simple, before. Just protecting her from boys—boys like Emil. It was _so_ simple, and it had been brotherly, he's sure of it. Sure that he never wanted her like—

"It's not for months," he says carefully, and she burrows her face into his neck. This is the closest they've been in months, and he wonders why.

"And our birthday," Sara whispers. "I know… Mickey, I would be blind and deaf if I couldn't read my twin brother. I wanted to give you something. The best present I can think of."

All at once Mickey understands that this is for him, not for her, and that she's going to do something she doesn't agree with because of how much she loves him.

His body, that unforgiving, rebellious thing, is slowly beginning to burn with arousal at her nearness. Her thin tank barely covers her, and he can feel the heat of her breasts against his arm, the poke of her nipples into his skin.

Mickey's never slept with anyone before, but he knows that her nipples being hard can mean something besides just being cold. And from the heat wafting off of her, she's not cold, at all.

And then his body throbs, once, a powerful sensation that feels doubled—and he knows she feels it too. She just throbbed, hard, between her legs, and Mickey felt the echo combined with his own arousal, and it's intoxicating.

"Are you sure—?" he tries to say, but then her lips are on his.

He thinks maybe he feels her reactions more than his own. He wonders, as she tempts his lips with hers, if she can feel _him_. He wants to ask—it's so difficult, feeling like the only one wrapped in this love, like moonlight shining on only one half of the bed—but of course she's kissing him, stealing his air, his very soul, and Mickey closes his eyes and wonders if he'll simply expire from the beauty of it.

Of course he knows it's wrong. This secret eating him alive has been a thorn lodged in his heart for what feels like forever—when did his feelings change? When did he stop loving her—only to start again in a whole new way?

She suddenly leans back, and her mouth is wet and shiny in the light of his lamp. She presses the back of her hand to her mouth, but she doesn't wipe his touch away.

"Do you feel it too?" he asks her, and he knows his eyes, the exact match to hers, must be shining with a fervency that is almost manic. He _wants_ , God, he wants so bad, and his whole body trembles with the wanting of her.

"Mickey…" she says on a long exhale. "I've loved you for a thousand years. Let me… let me make you a man for your birthday."

"And you?" He thinks if she says that she's not a virgin, he'll simply explode.

"And me," she whispers. "I… I want you to touch me."

This is different. Sara has always rebuffed his advances, even as clumsy and unintended as they were. But with just one kiss, she's looking at him like he's the only man in the world, that everything around them could go up in flames and all she'd see is him, still. Only him.

He doesn't know where he gets the courage; maybe it's actually hers, bleeding into him, but he grips her upper arms and pulls her in close, tasting those perfect lips again, caressing her with his mouth. When he licks at the seam of her lips, she parts them and then he's _inside_ and God, it's heaven.

In his briefs, his cock is now uncomfortably stretching the fabric and it needs adjusting, desperately. He throbs and aches and the hard on actually _hurts_ , and he doesn't know whether it's because of his underwear or because of how much he wants her.

But Sara… she reads his mind like she always does. Her hands are on him, despite the way he's squeezing her upper arms enough to make bruises on her tanned skin. She doesn't fumble, she doesn't need instruction; it's like because it's _him_ , her brother, she knows exactly what to do: she reaches beneath the elastic of his briefs and curls her small warm hand around him, lifting him so that he's more comfortable, then she hesitates briefly in kissing him as she rolls the front of his underwear down, exposing him. She breaks from him, her breath coming fast and sharp, and she just looks at him.

Their perfectly matched eyes hold in a perfectly matched gaze as she begins to stroke him. Her fingertips are so, so soft, and the palm of her hand is like rubbing silk over his cock. He can't wait to touch more of her, to see how the rest of her skin feels—if it's as soft as it looks.

"I'm soaked," she whispers to him. "Because of you." She carefully pulls out of his grip—dark prints from his fingertips litter her biceps—and her free hand reaches for his hand. She grabs it and brings it down, between her legs, and her tiny boyshorts are the _only thing she's wearing down there_. And she wasn't kidding: the moment his hand cups over her, he feels a heat that sears his palm and his hand is instantly damp. She must be so wet she's actually dripping through her panties.

Well, he's so wet he's leaving smears of precome on his belly. She lets go of his wrist and he cups her more firmly, feeling the way her soft flesh conforms to his hand. He presses in, just a little, and she gasps, her hips tilting towards him.

"My Sara," he says, unsteadily. "We— Can you take these off?"

She moves, and his hand falls away, but then she's standing up, and her tank top is a memory and her panties a dream and all that's left is bare skin, the creamy light brown of her skin feeling like it lights up inside his heart. Her breasts are perky, but he can tell just from looking at them that they are probably heavy; he nipples are dark, dusky crowns to the rounded flesh.

He lets his gaze wander down her body, and he can't—

"Come here," he says, and Sara lies down on the bed next to him.

"Take your briefs off," Sara says, and of course, he was so distracted by her beauty that he didn't even consider that it might be difficult to fuck her this way. And he is going to get to fuck her, right?

"This isn't… it isn't a prank, is it?" He wiggles out of his underwear, but her hands, both of them, are suddenly covering his heart.

"I wouldn't," she promises in a low, earnest voice. "Think about it. Would I really do… this… this unholy thing, with my _twin_ , if I didn't…" she trails off, but her eyes say the words, and he can feel them in his heart, anyway. His blood runs hot and thick and he has to touch her. _If I didn't want you too_.

He slowly guides her onto her back, and she spreads her legs, wider than he would think is possible, but she's a figure skater, and so flexible. He scooches down the bed, and using just one fingertip at first, he opens her outer labia so he can peer inside.

His first impression is really just an assault on his senses: pink, warm, satin and pearl; a heady musk that he wants to bottle and breathe for the rest of his life; and dripping wet, lovely almost iridescent droplets slip-sliding down her slit.

Fuck. He's done for. He wants to take her in his mouth, but he can't. His body is screaming at him in every possible way; he's overcome with necessity of pushing his cock inside her and finding out if she's as delicious to feel as she is to look at.

"Sara," he starts to say, but her hands are on his head, turning his face to meet his eyes again. He slides up her body and suddenly his hardness slots into place over her mound, and he can feel the echoing throb of her body resonating in his.

"Love me, Mickey," she says, and her hands play in his hair, her mouth bitten into irritated flesh. He kisses her again, savoring her, licking at the nibbles she's made on her own lips, soothing them.

And then he leans up on one elbow, and takes his heavy cock in his hands. He places it at her opening, and she's so goddamn tight. He might break her.

"It's okay," she tells him, though. "I've broken my hymen skating. You won't hurt me."

"I'd die if I hurt you," he says, and her eyes never leave his, sympathetic and filled with desire and love and emotions he doesn't have words for.

"You _won't_ ," she insists, and so he pushes his cockhead against her. He's never done this before, obviously, so he's surprised when she stretches around him, and that every inch he slides in, she accommodates. Her passage feels unbelievably soft, like rose petals, and she gasps, a tiny, torn-from-her-throat sound, and her pelvis lifts, her back curves away from the bed, and Mickey is all of a sudden as deep as he can go, without even realizing he was that close.

He wraps his arms around her back and when she falls back against the bed, he's holding her tight. Her breasts are warm and so firm against his chest, her nipples almost scraping over his in an intense, unexpected sensation.

He begins to do what every man is born knowing how to do, though it takes him a few thrusts to find a rhythm. When he does, though, it feels like everything aligns cosmically.

Her nails scrabble at his back, and his cock slicks into her and out, and her ass keeps coming off the bed to meet him, to seat his cock all the way within her.

"Mickey, I need more—" she pants, and her hands are guiding him again, showing him where to part her folds to find the tiny bundle of nerve endings. "My clit. Thumb it, Mickey, fast. Roll it between your fingers." He touches it, gingerly, afraid of how to feel her in his fingers, but she cries out, a long, unbroken moan, and so he does what she described; as he plunges deep into her, as his dick is sheathed in warmth and wet and fucking _heaven_ , he rolls her clit, he experiments, and she's writhing, wild on the bed now, body bucking. He can feel, where he's still holding her, the thrum of it running through her.

He can actually feel it building in her, can feel her muscles tense and release, and he slows his pace just a bit, not to tease, but because she deserves love, not just a dirty fuck.

His dick is enveloped by heat and her juices are soaking him, and he finally starts to lose it, hips stuttering in their rhythm, but he's determined. He thumbs her clit particularly firmly on a stroke in, and her hands claw against his back as she nearly screams. Her body convulses and her eyes are wide open, the violet dark and blown apart as she stares at him, as she comes.

Mickey doesn't stand a chance; watching his sister come apart in his arms, around his cock, her muscles squeezing and clenching against him, he gathers her as close as he can and feels his dick spasm inside her.

There's a brief, unbidden thought that he should pull out, that this is his sister he's making love to, and he shouldn't come insi—

But it's all over too fast, too late.

When Mickey slides out of her again, he can feel her passage contract and she's wracked with little after-tremors. His fingers are drenched by her, and he sticks them into her, just to feel her clamp down on them over and over as the last of her orgasm fades.

"I love you," Mickey says. He can't help it. He feels like his blood has been replaced with hers, that she drained him of everything bad, tossed it away, and filled him back up with her purity, the blood that they share. Oh, he…

"Happy birthday, Mickey," Sara says, and he opens his eyes, lashes damp with sweat and possibly tears, and finds his clock. 12:01 am. She brought him to orgasm just as he turned twenty-three.

"Sara," he says, and nuzzles up against her. He moves to the side so he doesn't crush her, and then slowly traces patterns over her skin, the ache only momentarily appeased.

He doesn't know if she'll ever let him do this again, but he could lie here for a thousand years and never get tired of looking at her, of touching her; now it's probably too late but he handles her breasts gently, testing the weight of them, flicking at her nipples.

"Mickey!" she cries, and he watches in wonder and amazement as she goes over the edge again, falling into bliss.

He did this. He loved his sister better than any man ever could. He skims his fingertips down her body.

"Happy birthday to my lovely sister," he murmurs into her ear. Is it his imagination, or does her body tremble and shake just a little bit more at those words?

end.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me (helm-puppet-trash) on [Tumblr](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com)!


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